His books
by avatarquake
Summary: No on touches his books.


His books

 **Summary:** No one touches his books. **  
Notes:** My second and late prompt fic – cousyfest2k17, day 2, books. (OK, all of my prompt fics are going to be late by default now.)

* * *

He doesn't _know_ her. There is this strange feeling, like he should, but he doesn't.

And he can tell, but the way she looks at him, at his house, that she understands that, even if it is a profoundly sad knowledge.

"What can I do for you, miss?" he asks at last.

"It's more what I can do for you." she replies. "I think you are in danger."

"Me?" he frowns. "Why?"

"HYDRA thinks you may be...collaborating with the Resistance." she says, still looking around his house.

"What use would I be to the Resistance? I'm just a history professor." he huffs, crossing his arms.

She turns to look at him and smiles.

"You sound like Princess Leia, Phil." she says, excited. "I'm really proud of you."

"How would you know I am suspected by HYDRA? You are HYDRA, aren't you?"

"Well, that's what AIDA wanted me to be, but I came through the backdoor. Let me tell you, Phill, acting like lovey-dovey with a Nazi is an Oscar-worth performance." she said, standing in front of his bookcase.

His books.

She ran her fingers almost lovingly on the spines of the books, reading the titles.

"A lot of history books, but that's expected from a history professor." she commented. "But you got some crime novels, too."

There is something about the way she touches his stuff, the careful familiarity, looking ready to pull away from his stuff, as if she expects him to tell her to back off.

But he can't do that.

She looks interested in his books.

A flash of red, a hand against it, the same strange feeling he gets from seeing this strange woman inspect his books. Like acceptance, or maybe relief. He can't tell.

"You ok, Phil?"

Suddenly she is in front of him, her hand wrapped around his left arm, her eyes full of concern.

"Yeah, I'm ok." he replies.

She nodds, then runs her hand down, along his arm, like it's something strange.

"Why...?"

"You matter to me, that's why I am here. Both in your house and this world."

Still, she turns to his books.

"You didn't have so many books. You had a lot of records. Do you still have records?"

"But..."

She is still touching his books. Looking through his grading papers, his desk and notes.

No one touches his books.

Granted, no one has ever come to his home, but if he had a rule for visitors, that would be it; no touching of his books.

But he lets her, a complete stranger, a possible enemy, wander through his house, his life, like she belonged here all along.

Suddenly his house feels different. As if seeing her everyday isn't uncommon. It's a routine, a novelty that someone like her would spent so much time with him, yes, but something that he experiences every day.

There's a name on the tip of his tongue. Something precious.

He knows he will unravel this mystery. He really, really wants to.

She is important, he can tell. An answer to a question he didn't know he was asking.

He is still captivated by her fingers running over his books.

It's important, that he lets her, that it feels right she can poke through his things and search them and ask about them.

"I know you...don't I?" he asks softly.

"Yeah." she smiles at him.

"You never told me your name."

"You never asked." she turned back to her quest, picking one of his novels.

"You're right. I didn't." he realises.

He looks around for inspiration, for something to jog his memory.

His books. Why is he so stuck about his books? Why is he so fixed on the idea that she is the only one he'd ever want to touch his stuff?

"So? What's my name, Phil?" she smirked.

She had let his book down and stepped close to him.

He looked into her eyes and almost lost himself. The world faded and nothing else mattered. An image, his hand, a young woman crying. He watched, almost questioningly, as his hand, craddled her face. She closed her eyes, leaning on his touch.

It's not something she had done before, lean into his touch so openly.

"Skye...?" he mumbles. Then frowns. "No, that's not right. It's something else." he shakes his head, trying to clear it.

She smiled up to him.

"It took you so long to get used to my real name. Figures you'd start from 'Skye'." she said. "Do you want a hint?"

"I know I need one, but...can I ask for one?" he frowned. "I mean...I should know your name, it's important; _you_ are imprtant."

"It starts with a D." she replied, stepping closer to him.

" _Daisy_..." he sighed after a moment, relieved.

She pulled him close, in a tight hug and held on, feeling his arms coming around her and holding on just as tight.

"Oh, God, Daisy. How did you...?"

"I came in through a backdoor. Not a fun experience, I can promise you that. I'll tell you everything once we get the others and get outside of the Framework." she said quickly.

"In a moment." he sighed, hiding his face in her shoulder. "I missed you."

Daisy smiled.

"Missed you, too."

She pulls back a little, to look into his eyes and Phil is finding himself lost in her eyes again. For a moment he wonders what life would be like not knowing Daisy, not getting to see her everyday, in some capacity.

It's a sad thought.

Without thinking, he leans in, presses a quick kiss to her lips.

"Phil..." she starts.

"Something to talk about when we are both out of here. Because I want to talk about this, us." he said quietly.

"Okay."

"Okay."


End file.
